


Justin in Five Senses

by justinlovesart



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justinlovesart/pseuds/justinlovesart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-513 ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justin in Five Senses

The best mornings start with the smell of Justin.

Not the lingering scent of their times apart, the one that fades away one day at a time in the weeks that separate them, no matter how deeply Brian inhales. This, right now, is the smell of skin and sleepy breath, of a body near and so familiar he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s by his side.

The shapes of dreams are still demanding attention, the fools, struggling to pull Brian back down among shadows that are not as unfriendly as they used to be. On different mornings, when the air is empty or occupied by rare unfamiliar smells, the dreams might win. But not today, when Brian’s first conscious breath is of sweat and glitter and peanut butter: he pushes himself out of sleep as if surfacing from a long dive, making his way back up with a few elegant kicks.

Eyes still closed, he swallows one long gulp of air before he turns his head around to see Justin there, just as he imagined him to be from the softness of his snore: front down, face tilted away from him, one arm by his side, the other bent under the pillow, framing his head.

Brian blinks away the remains of sleep from his eyes once, then twice.

If at this point he shouldn’t immediately remember where, exactly, they are - not an unusual occurrence in this nomadic life of theirs - the indentation of the mattress would reveal that this is the loft even before other noises (the elevator, the traffic) do. In New York, Justin falls deeper into the bed and in Toronto there’s hardly any room for him to spread out so freely.

There are other cities, too, other beds and places, and to each of them Justin moulds his body in ways that could appear identical to the untrained eye. But Brian’s eye is not untrained.

He knows he doesn’t have much time. There’s hardly any space between them and every movement can give him away. He runs his gaze over the white back as quietly as possible, down to the point where the sheet is coyly guarding Justin’s ass: the tease. Then, even more slowly, all the way up to the turned neck, the blond hair with yet another New York cut, the round shoulder.

Brian could touch any of those, and be still surprised by the endless reserves of pleasure stored away in a body he knows already so well. He knows its flavor, too, but this doesn’t stop him from dipping his head a little –gently, silently - and sticking out the tip of his tongue, to taste a minimal fraction of Justin’s arm, then do it again.

Milk and soap. Clean sheets. Almond-scented body lotion.

Justin mixed with his own spit, on the tip of his tongue.

A third lick and a breath that’s held a little longer than usual. Brian becomes still. As he hears Justin exhale, he wonders if he, too, is struggling to disentangle himself from his morning dreams, and if they are good ones. What does become of his licks in that world?

Later, there will be loud moans and strong caresses, unfinished sentences, torn sheets and deep, open kisses; a flavor of sex so powerful it will fill their senses for the rest of the day, and more.

Now, though, Brian waits for Justin to move; to turn his head around and look at him through semi-closed eyes; to breath words that are muffled yet so familiar with a voice that’s still trying to free itself from the night shadows.

“Are you going to fuck me, or what?”

Brian bites his lip and makes the thin distance that still separates them last.

“Always the romantic,” he replies. Then he dives in, fully awake in all his senses.


End file.
